Vengeance on My Alpha and His Mistress

By the time the patrol arrives, it is already too late.

As our beta picks my body off of the ground, I feel the moment when my heart stops and my spirit slips away.

“Damn it, Val,” he cries. “Why didn’t you wait for us? I told you to wait.”

My soul travels swiftly, following the last thread of fate still tethering me to this existence.

My mate. Maxwell.

In seconds, I am hovering above him as he continues to thrust between the open legs of his mistress. They are both enjoying themselves, fully lost in the moment.

Did he know I was dying as he fucked her? Did he feel when my heart stopped beating as he thrust inside her?

“Max, I’m here!” I shout in his ear.

He looks up, and for a moment I think he can see me, but when he goes back to plowing into her, I know I’m wrong.

No matter what I try, It’s pointless. He wouldn’t listen to me when I was alive, why would my death matter?

Unable to turn away, I watch him come undone, wishing I could touch him one more time even as he slides out of Phoebe. She moans as he finishes, reaching for him, begging him to stay.

“Get cleaned up, we need to leave soon,” he orders her, turning his back.

“Yes Alpha,” she replies quietly, her eyes downcast. “As you wish.”

I still feel the stab where my heart once was as she covers herself with one of his shirts and saunters from the room.

Watching him prepare for a date with another woman, I remember every moment he told me I was imagining things about their relationship.

“She’s an omega,” he’d argue, “You’re my Luna. You will always be my Luna. She could never take your place.”

Yet as she places a delicate arm on his, I can’t help but notice how perfect they look together striding into the Alpha Ball side by side.

An hour later, their joy is snatched by the arrival of our Beta, Dexter. He pulls the Alpha aside, his grim face dampening the mood.

The alpha pats Phoebe’s hand in dismissal. Nodding demurely, she gives him a simple, easy-going smile.

“Dex, can’t this wait?” He asks as they enter a separate room. Max’s eyes widen as he notices the blood stains on his Beta’s clothing.

“There was an attack,” Dexter explains. “A large group of rogues violated our borders.” As Dexter delivers the story of my demise, all the color drains from Max’s face.

“Why weren’t you with her? She wasn’t supposed to be alone,” the alpha demands, his face only inches from his beta as he fights to rein in his anger.

“We were called away to check the southern boundary,” Dexter explains. “By the time we were called back, it was too late.”

Only moments after Dexter leaves, Phoebe’s small, blonde head peeks around the doorway. In one hand she’s holding out a glass of whiskey. In the other, the bottle.

“Alpha, are you okay?”

Snatching the glass from her hand, he swallows it in a single gulp. “Val is dead,” he announces, his voice distant and cold as reaches for the bottle.

Her face falls sympathetically. “Let’s get out of here,” Phoebe suggests and he agrees, letting her wrap her arms around him in comfort.

They make the slow march back to the packhouse. She settles in next to him, soothing his hurt with her kind words and gentle touches.

“Come on, Baby,” she takes a deep swig before handing the bottle back to him as they reach the packhouse. “Let’s go back to your room. I’ll help you forget about this. Let me take care of you.”

“No,” His lips curl. “Not tonight.”

“But we wouldn’t even need to sneak around this time. She’s not here to bother us anymore,” she pouts.

His fist clenches the bottle. “I said no.”

“I bet she set up this attack herself,” Phoebe’s sweetness sours at his rejection. “She was always so jealous. It serves her right that she…”

Max slaps Phoebe hard enough that she stumbles and falls to the ground. Blinking up at him in shock, she places her hand on bruises forming on her cheek.

“How dare you speak of your Luna that way!” He snarls, his words slurred from alcohol and pain.

Phoebe cowers as she drops her head to the ground. “Please forgive me Alpha."

He turns his back to her and opens the packhouse door.

“Val, I’m …” he starts to call out like he always does but there’s nobody here to answer this time. Tonight the packhouse is empty and dark.

As I reach forward to comfort him, another hand lands on his shoulder.